Forever Mine (The Forever Series #2)

by Cheryl Holt

  “On what issue?”

  “This was delivered to you earlier this morning.” Gertrude sat forward and pushed a letter across the desk. The seal had been broken.

  “I received a letter?” Catherine was stunned.

  “Yes, it’s for you, but I won’t apologize for snooping. Read it please.”

  For a moment, Catherine stared as if it were a venomous snake, then she lifted it and perused the message over and over. The words were unfathomable. She felt as if they were written in a foreign language she didn’t comprehend.

  I have been delayed by family matters so I won’t be able to come for you after all. I’m very sorry.

  He’d signed it using his nickname of Kit which was disturbing. Kit was what Priscilla called him, what the Boltons called him. Kit wasn’t a person Catherine knew.

  She laid the letter on the desk, and Gertrude said, “I ask you again, Catherine. Is there something you’d like to tell me? This is so embarrassing. Don’t force me to pry it out of you.”

  Catherine probably should have denied any relationship to her dying breath, but she was incredibly confused. The tone of his note was so curt and uninformative. It sounded as if he might not come back for her or if he did come back it wouldn’t be to take her away.

  “Mr. Stanton and I might have been more than friends,” she admitted.

  “Thank you for confessing it. I’m fully aware that he spent the night in your room.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now I’d like to hear your plans. I insist on being apprised of every detail.”

  “Is it really important? I’d rather not talk about it.”

  She couldn’t bear to discuss the situation with Gertrude. She was anxious to confer with Christopher to learn what had transpired. In her dealings with him, she always conveniently forgot that he was a cad and a libertine. He laughed and bragged about it. Was he forsaking her?

  So far, Gertrude had been sympathetic, but she slapped a hand on the desk, the echo bouncing off the ceiling, causing Catherine to jump in her seat.

  “Tell me what you planned!” Gertrude barked.

  “Mr. Stanton will speak with Mr. Bolton this morning at his office.”

  “And…?”

  “He’s crying off from his betrothal to Priscilla.”

  “And…?”

  “Then he’ll stop by to get me.”

  “At noon?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “We’re going to the country, to Stanton Manor. We’ll marry there with a Special License.”

  “You’ll be his bride, and you’ll wallow in genteel poverty? Is that it?”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Kit told you all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You believed him?”

  “Why wouldn’t I have?”

  Gertrude oozed pity and exasperation. “Oh, Catherine, I’m simply at a loss for words.”

  “He’ll come for me,” she firmly stated. “He’s just delayed.”

  Gertrude clucked her tongue with dismay. “You girls are so gullible. I’m flummoxed by your naïveté.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure this will hurt you, but you are the fourth ninny this year who assumed he would cry off from Priscilla and wed her instead.”

  Catherine blanched, but quickly regrouped. She knew Christopher. She knew what kind of man he was. He wouldn’t trick her. He wouldn’t break her heart.

  “That’s not possible,” she fumed. “You’re lying.”

  “Shall we have Libby join us and confess her sins? She was one of them. In fact, her ruination occurred quite recently. Apparently, he was crawling in and out of her bed the same time he was crawling in and out of yours.”

  The comment rattled Catherine. The housemaids had gossiped about Libby’s low character, and Catherine had witnessed some of it herself. Libby and Christopher had been whispering at the picnic as they’d shared secrets neither of them had bothered to explain to her.

  Libby had warned her to be careful around him, that he wasn’t who he seemed. Why was she so certain? Catherine had figured it was because he was a roué. Could it have been more than that?

  What was true? What was real? She had no idea.

  “There are a few particulars you obviously haven’t discovered,” Gertrude said.

  “Besides how he seduced Miss Markham?” she snidely asked.

  “Yes, besides that.”

  Catherine scoffed with derision. “I won’t listen to you denigrating him.”

  “I appreciate that you’re loyal and that you were counting on him. I understand that you’re still convinced he’ll show up. But he won’t.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Stanton Manor is bankrupt and in foreclosure,” Gertrude suddenly announced. “Kit has until July fifteenth to tender a payment, and if he doesn’t he’ll be tossed out on the road with just the clothes on his back.”

  Catherine felt bewildered and betrayed, and she stupidly mentioned, “We’re planning to live there.”

  “Catherine, there is no manor for you to move into. After July fifteenth, it’s all forfeit to his creditors.”

  The fifteenth of July was racing toward them like a runaway carriage, and Catherine said, “You’re trying to scare me.”

  “Yes, I am because I have to yank you to your senses. It’s easy for Kit to tempt a female like you. You’re lonely and all alone in the world. It was simple for him to corrupt you.”

  “He didn’t corrupt me,” she insisted. “I love him, and I’ll make him so happy.”

  “I never viewed you as a fool, Catherine.”

  “I’m not a fool. I merely have faith in Mr. Stanton, and I don’t care how you disparage him. You’ll never change my opinion.”

  “Won’t I? Mr. Bolton is scheduled to deliver part of Priscilla’s dowry to Kit at the end of June. The funds will go straight to the bankruptcy court to save the estate.”

  The news was so alarming that Catherine gasped and shook her head in consternation. “That can’t be right.”

  “It’s true, Catherine. I recognize you don’t want it to be, but how can you suppose—if Kit is about to receive a portion of the dowry—that he would elope with you? Can you actually imagine he would take the money from Mr. Bolton, but forsake Priscilla at the same time?”

  “No.”

  “It would be impossible. His father arranged this betrothal when Kit and Priscilla were children.”

  “I realize that.”

  “And he’s been acquainted with you…what? Three weeks? Four? Can you presume he would shame his father’s memory over such a paltry connection? Can you presume he would marry you when it would guarantee he lost Stanton Manor on the fifteenth of July? You must think you’re more valuable to him than the property that has belonged to his family for three hundred years.”

  “No, I would never think that.”

  “After the place is forfeit, where would the two of you live? In a ditch?”

  “I’m so confused,” she mumbled.

  “You’re not an idiot, Catherine. You’re very smart. On a few romantic occasions, he flirted with you at Vauxhall, but you have to accept that he has you grasping at fairytales.”

  “It wasn’t a fairytale,” she said, but not with much vehemence.

  Her confident posturing had fled. Gertrude was correct that Catherine wasn’t an idiot. Although Christopher appeared to be very fond of her, he would never pick her if Stanton Manor was hanging in the balance.

  So how could he have had honorable intentions in proposing? What was his ploy? It had to have been a scheme to lower her guard so he could lift her skirt. What else could it have been?

  From the day she’d learned her parents and Hayden had died, her life had been a slow plunge down society’s ladder. For most of a decade, she’d been standing on the bottom rung, and she was barely holding on.
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  She constantly prayed that a miracle would occur to alter her depressing fate. Christopher had paid her a bit of attention, and she’d persuaded herself that he meant every flattering remark.

  When he’d sneaked into her room, she hadn’t questioned the motive for his arrival. He’d so thoroughly ensnared her in his web that she’d forgotten how to tell right from wrong. She’d thrown her morals out the window in order to commit grievous sins that would perpetually haunt her.

  Was she the most gullible person ever? Was she so blind that she couldn’t identify a cad walking directly toward her? Was she so naïve about men and amour that she would embrace any lie that was spewed, despite how unlikely? Despite how false?

  “Here’s what we will do,” Gertrude said.

  “I don’t want to do anything. Christopher promised he’d come for me, and I’d like to wait for him.”

  “Seriously? You’re completely disgraced, yet you’d brazenly tarry in Mr. Bolton’s home? In Priscilla’s home?”

  “I have to talk to him.”

  “Let me be frank with you, Catherine. Kit visited Mr. Bolton at his office this morning.”

  A flare of hope ignited in her breast. “What was discussed?”

  “They discussed the money that will be transferred at the end of the month. You were never mentioned.”

  Catherine studied Gertrude, and she was so smug, so certain. Could it be? Could Christopher have deceived Catherine? If that was the case, what were her options?

  She was positive she shouldn’t trust Gertrude, but how could it matter if she trusted her? She’d acted decadently and despicably. She’d ruined herself and interfered with Priscilla’s betrothal. What if Christopher never came? How long could she expect to dawdle?

  An hour? A day? A week?

  “I believed him,” Catherine said.

  “Girls always do. He’s a silver-tongued devil.”

  “I need to speak to Libby. I’d like to hear her opinion about him.”

  Gertrude sighed with aggravation. “I could allow it, but here’s the problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have been patient with you, but you have exhausted my courtesy. Get yourself out of my house. Immediately.”

  “Out…now?”

  “Yes, you are to go at once.”

  “Go where?”

  “How is that any of my concern? You are fired, and I don’t wish to have you darken our door ever again.”

  Catherine was stunned. “I’m fired?”

  “Yes, for moral turpitude. You have behaved like a harlot, and Mr. Bolton demands his servants possess the highest character. You were hired to chaperone Priscilla, but you have proved that you haven’t the decent sort of temperament required for the position. You can’t remain in our midst. I’m sick of the sight of you.”

  Catherine could have argued. She could have defended herself. She could have begged for another chance, but there was no valid reason by which she could insist on staying.

  Gertrude’s charges were all true. Catherine was guilty of great moral turpitude. She had flirted, then fornicated with Mr. Bolton’s future son-in-law. She had betrayed her post and her employer. Only a deranged lunatic would assume she could linger.

  Gertrude opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved an envelope. She handed it over.

  “These are the wages you’re owed for the past two weeks, though why I’m paying you I have no idea. I won’t cast you out without a penny.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine probably should have mustered her pride and refused the money, but she had worked hard for it, and she wouldn’t relinquish it.

  “You had packed your bag, and it’s in the kitchen. You will depart by the rear servant’s door. I won’t have you prancing out the front.”

  Catherine stood, and she stared at Gertrude, eager to offer an excuse or an apology. But there was no justification she could make, and she wasn’t sorry for loving Christopher Wakefield-Stanton. She hadn’t been able to help herself, and if she’d lost his affection she didn’t know how she’d continue on.

  There was such an air of unreality about the moment that she still didn’t believe this was really happening. Christopher had abandoned her? He’d never meant any of his promises? She was fired? She was being tossed out?

  “Might I ask a question?” she said.

  “No.”

  She asked it anyway. “Could you tell me the address of Mr. Stanton’s apartment here in London?”

  Gertrude scowled. “Kit doesn’t have an apartment in the city. If he told you as much, he was lying.”

  Catherine actually shuddered at the comment. “What if I won’t leave? Sooner or later, he’ll stop by. What if I tarry out on the street until he arrives?”

  “First of all, Catherine, you’re beginning to sound quite unhinged. Hasn’t it occurred to you that Kit isn’t interested in talking to you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he’s not interested. It’s why he wrote you that note. Will you linger until you can create a scene? Is that a humiliation you’d like to endure? Will you shame yourself? Will you shame him? Second of all, if I observe you loitering I will call the law and have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Catherine sighed with regret. “I understand.”

  “I hate that you were deceived by him so I’ll let you slink to Mrs. Ford without a bad reference, but Mr. Bolton and I will not permit you to pester us or bother Kit. If you don’t go away—and stay away—I will contact Mrs. Ford to ensure you never find employment in this city again.”

  “All right.”

  “And that doesn’t even take into account Priscilla’s opinion of the matter. I haven’t informed her of how you ruined yourself with her fiancé, but I intend to the instant I’m shed of you. Can you imagine her reaction when she learns of your perfidy? You shouldn’t risk running into her.”

  How could Catherine quarrel with that? “You’re correct of course. Goodbye.”

  She spun and left. Fleetingly, she wondered if she could locate Libby to ask her about her relationship with Christopher, but Bertha was in the hall and holding Catherine’s cloak and bonnet.

  “This way, Miss Barrington.” She gestured toward the kitchen.

  Catherine tied on her bonnet and was wrapping her cloak over her shoulders when Priscilla walked up.

  “Where are you off to?” Priscilla inquired.

  “Ah…ah…”

  “I need you. I have some shopping to do.”

  Catherine was too overwhelmed to reply, and Bertha rescued her. “Your aunt is waiting for you, Miss Priscilla. Why don’t you see what she wants?”

  Priscilla swept on by, and Catherine was suddenly desperate to escape. There was no worse event she could envision than to be dawdling after Priscilla discovered her pathetic amour with Christopher.

  “Let’s hurry, shall we?” Bertha said, apparently thinking along the same lines.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Catherine followed her out and didn’t glance back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Where is Catherine going?” Priscilla asked as she entered the library.

  Gertrude gazed at her, her expression serene even though her emotions were roiling. She would never provide a hint to Priscilla about Kit’s affair.

  “I fired her,” Gertrude said.

  “You fired Catherine?” Priscilla frowned. “You might have sought my opinion. What was her transgression? She’s such a trembling, tepid person. I can’t believe she’d be brave enough to do anything wrong.”

  “Remember the rings that were missing from your jewelry box? She stole them.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. Bertha noticed she was in your room the other day when she had no business being there so we were suspicious. I confronted her.”

  “She admitted it?”

  “Not in the beginning, but Bertha lied and claimed she’d witnessed her taking them. The whole
story tumbled out.”

  “You let her leave though. Why didn’t you have her arrested? Wouldn’t that be better?”

  “I didn’t want to create a fuss. If we’d had her hauled off, the servants would have gossiped. You know how they are. I would hate to have horrid rumors circulating right before the wedding.”

  Priscilla extended her hand. “Give them back to me. From now on, I’ll keep them in a safer spot.”

  “She’d already pawned them.”

  “Honestly, Aunt Gertrude. You should have called for the law. We can’t allow petty theft among the staff. If we’re not careful, they’ll all be pilfering.”

  “It’s why I didn’t involve the law. With how we can’t retrieve the rings, it seems as if she got away with it.”

  “Well, if the rings are gone for good,” Priscilla huffed, “she did get away with it.”

  Gertrude ignored her complaint. “You shouldn’t talk about this. Not to your father. Not to Kit. I trust Bertha, and she’ll remain silent. If anyone inquires about Catherine—and I doubt anyone will—we’ll pretend there was a death in her family, and she left to be with them.”

  “Will we hire a new companion for me or what? I have a thousand errands to run, and you don’t wish to be bothered with traipsing after me.”

  “I thought I’d visit Mrs. Ford this afternoon, but I have some other matters to attend to first. Would you find Libby and send her down?”

  “What am I? Your slave?”

  “Just fetch her for me, Priscilla. Don’t argue for once.”

  Priscilla started out, and as she reached the door, Gertrude said, “Don’t forget, Priscilla. We’ll be quiet about this regrettable episode. Not a word to your maids or your friends. Not to your father or Kit. Especially to Kit. We shouldn’t have him thinking we can’t control our servants.”

  Priscilla scoffed. “As if I’d discuss the servants with Kit. When we’re together, he and I have bigger fish to fry.”

  She departed, and before too many minutes had passed, Libby walked in.

  In all of Gertrude’s years of managing Herbert’s home, there had been two incidents of illicit conduct. Both of them had been pursued by unwed housemaids, and the events had happened outside the house, their sins not committed under Mr. Bolton’s roof. Gertrude hadn’t been attached to either girl so it had been easy to toss them out.